


The Great Comet

by PutItBriefly



Category: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: AU - Different background for Darcy, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:42:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22306627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PutItBriefly/pseuds/PutItBriefly
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged that when the night sky becomes lit by a comet, disaster will follow.The Great Comet of 1811 is finally spotted over Hertfordshire the night before Mr Bingley and his party appear at the Meryton Assembly. With rumors immediately circulating about Mr Darcy, can there be any doubt that *he* is the disaster the comet brought Elizabeth Bennet?
Relationships: Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy
Comments: 54
Kudos: 146





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a work in progress that I hope to finish in 2020. Fair warning: I've been working on it since 2017, so maybe not.
> 
> I feel obligated to say that this story was inspired by War and Peace, because it was, but I also want to caution against trying to make any predictions about the direction of this story based on the novel itself. I borrowed some elements, but the road they take is different.
> 
> I chose the name Kemble for its associations, but shall not be depicting any real people.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that when the night sky becomes lit by a comet, disaster will follow.  
  
However little known the specifics of the impending apocalypse, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of laymen and astronomers alike that the sight of such heavenly phenomena may inspire only fear and dread.  
  
“Lizzy,” said her sister one night, “you cannot mean to go out and look for it again.”  
  
Elizabeth did not pause in tying up her boots. “Near the horizon at dawn.” Smiling, she added, “I have been wishing to see it for months. You can hardly expect me to give it up now that I know I have a chance.”  
  
The Great Comet of 1811 had been discovered in late March, soaring through Argo Navis before being overpowered by moonlight until April. Some with the fortune to have seen it said it had a tail longer than the width of the sun; others that it had two tails. It was almost certainly brighter than any star but Sirius. As the comet’s fame grew, the descriptions became more alluring. Night after night, Elizabeth had crept out of the bedroom she shared with Jane, fruitlessly searching for a comet that could not be seen without the aid of a telescope. She had not known _that_ until September, when the news surrounding the comet was suddenly a celebration that it could finally be seen by the naked eye. Though primed to renew her search, repeated failures had cooled her ardour and taught Elizabeth caution. Even if she did not need a telescope, she could not see the comet through clouds. It was mid-October before the sky was kind enough to give her a clear night.  
  
“If I do not see it tonight, when circumstances have attuned themselves to me as best they can and shall not do better, you have my promise I shall not try again.” Wrinkling her nose, Elizabeth added, “Disappointment by itself is misfortune enough. Missing sleep to disappoint myself makes it sting all the worse.”  
  
Jane pulled the counterpane taut around her shoulders and pressed her cheek further into her pillow. “Dress warmly.” (Elizabeth promised that, too; she would not add a chill to the compounded hardship of sleepy disappointment.) “And good luck, though I do not know what the _better_ circumstance is.”  
  
“To have seen it!” Elizabeth cried. “A comet like this shall not come around again! I will never understand why you do not wish to see it!”  
  
“Because one cannot think of a comet without thinking on the misery it brings with it. Oh Lizzy! Why do you _wish_ to dwell on unhappiness?”  
  
“I should never! But I hardly think how much unhappiness I shall have in life depends only on if I see it. It is still there, regardless of whether we look at it or not. Knowing that, I really would rather see it.”  
  
Elizabeth knew Jane was as firm in her desire to forgo the comet as she was to see it. The comet was called Napoleon’s Comet as often as the Great Comet. Many supposed the disaster the comet heralded to be a French victory. If Jane could not think of the comet without fearing the state of the continent and the threat of French invasion, Elizabeth would not try _very_ hard to drag her out of bed. Alone, Elizabeth crept downstairs. Cook must be awake, kneading dough for the morning’s bread, but the rest of the house was asleep.  
  
Quietly, Elizabeth slipped out the front door and headed towards the bowling green. Everything she had read suggested she needed a view of the horizon as unobstructed as possible.  
  
Her heart pounded as she ran. In the daylight, this was all familiar. Elizabeth had been to the bowling green countless times. She was not even leaving her father’s own land! And she _was_ in the habit of going out alone and wandering for miles during the day. Staying so near to her own house was not a daunting prospect! And certainly, she had been to her share of balls that did not close until two or even three o’clock, so the darkness was not alien, either. And she did run. Though she would avoid admitting it directly, everyone _knew._ All of these familiar things—solitude, and the grounds, and the nighttime, and the running—became markedly different when done together. Her parents had learnt of her sneaking out in April, when she had first begun, and tried to put her off it. Elizabeth knew they believed themselves successful and would not care for them to know they had failed.  
  
She ran without pause until she reached the flat expanse of well-kept green. Elizabeth let herself catch her breath. Part of her was almost afraid to look at the sky. If she did not see the comet tonight, she would never see it. She had no telescope. She had no better vantage ground. A night without clouds was _so rare._  
  
Elizabeth, braced for disappointment, looked up.  
  
Brighter than a star, as long as the sun, the comet hung still in the sky.  
  
She could not have missed it.  
  
Her gasp at the comet’s majesty turned almost immediately to laughter. She had done it! She had seen it! For a long moment, she dared not take her eyes off of it, half expecting it to disappear if she should so much as blink. But soon, she learnt to trust the comet’s fidelity, and danced her triumph in the grass.  
  
Too soon, the sun began to rise, its own brilliancy overpowering everything else in the sky, and Elizabeth turned to walk back towards the house.   
  


* * *

  
Mr Bingley’s was an inauspicious presence. He had taken possession of Netherfield Park before Michaelmas. The gentlemen of the neighbourhood paid their calls, doubtless made mention of their single daughters, sisters, and nieces. With admirable promptness, Mr Bingley returned each call, but the friendships did not grow beyond fifteen minutes spent with a father, a brother or an uncle. Every subsequent invitation was answered with Mr Bingley’s regret and some variation of _obliged to be in London that day, sorry to say._  
  
The promise of a new family at Netherfield was soon overtaken by resentment on the part of nearly everyone. The house had stood deserted for so long! It would be a fine thing for the neighbourhood if a single young man were to settle there, marry a local girl and become one of the first families of their society. But if that house should be let by a flighty sort, always abandoning his country seat for town and never developing an attachment to a good girl who would do him credit then it was better for everyone that he just give the place up and leave it available for someone who actually wished to live there!  
  
The 15th of October brought the Great Comet at daybreak and Mr Bingley in the evening. Lady Lucas had been told by Mrs Long that Mr Bingley intended to attend October’s assembly and bring a large party of friends down from London with him. But Mrs Long had never even been introduced to Mr Bingley, and her information had been met with no small degree of scrutiny by everyone that Lady Lucas spread it to.  
  
But Mr Bingley _did_ come, and brought with him a small party comprised of his two sisters, the husband of the elder, and a friend, and everyone forgot every snide thing they had ever whispered about Mrs Long. The coincidence of his timing was not a thing of interest. Mr Bingley’s neighbours would find determining the exact nature of his situation far more compelling than attempting to divine the doom the comet brought.  
  
Within five minutes of his entrance, everyone had heard that Mr. Bingley’s fortune amounted to about 100,000 pounds in the 4 or 5 per cents. He intended to purchase an estate and the occupancy of Netherfield was a step in that direction. He had much to recommend himself in both person and manners, danced all night long and sought an introduction to every young lady that previously felt herself neglected by a gentleman rumoured to be so affable, handsome, single, and rich. The certainty that he was the rightful property of a local lady was instantly renewed, and ere long, all in attendance could agree on which young lady she was.  
  
Miss Bennet’s acquisition was well-earned. She was the most beautiful girl in the neighbourhood, the eldest daughter of the principal landowner, and possessed a temper both refined and agreeable. But, most importantly, she was Elizabeth’s favourite sister, and that alone would have made Jane worthy, even if her father had been no one in particular and her face plain and freckled.  
  
Elizabeth swayed as they danced. She loved a ball. Dancing with a dashing young gentleman was always delightful, and when she could not be in the set, there was always someone curious to observe. But this particular assembly ran too late for someone who had barely slept the night before. Much as she enjoyed them, assemblies were common and the comet was not. She had been made to pick, and well, that eligible young men were at a scarcity when the comet appeared almost seemed like a fortunate coincidence. She could not have danced all night.  
  
Charlotte Lucas was obliged to sit down by the absence of partners, so she and Elizabeth sat together, frequently attended by Sir William Lucas. He apparently felt necessary for their entertainment and applied himself to retrieving wine and relating interesting bits of news he heard while circulating the room. It was through him that Elizabeth learnt of Mr Bingley’s fortune and his hopes to buy a house of his own.  
  
But then the news Sir William brought them began to be more and more concerned with Mr Bingley’s friend, and though the young ladies had only the mildest of curiosity where that gentleman was concerned, their messenger’s determination to learn all that he could seemed to arise from steadily growing misgivings. Mr Darcy, and his 10,000 pounds per annum. Mr Darcy, and his great estate in Derbyshire. Mr Darcy, and his house in town.  
  
Charlotte and her father were a mismatched pair at the best of times. The daughter, practical and cynical; the father, foolish and eager offer the world his agreement and approval. When she was not so tired, Elizabeth enjoyed watching them. Her exhaustion made engagement in their latest circular conversation impossible. Stubborn and sure suspicion borne of Sir William’s own mind was at war with his natural inclination to agree with and approve of opinions offered by others.  
  
“A very good income,” was Charlotte’s first observation.  
  
“One wonders what brought him to Hertfordshire. I am sure we have very little to interest a man of his standing,” was her second.  
  
“To be expected,” she said of his house in town.  
  
Sir William would not dare suggest an income of 10,000 pounds was in anyway lacking, but he felt rather than thought there was something not quite above board about Mr Darcy’s claim to his fortune. A strange pronouncement, which compelled his daughter to point out they knew nothing of Mr Darcy, his people, or his place in the world. Sir William returned to them with the word _Pemberley_ on his lips, a word Charlotte had never heard before and was equally assured her father had never heard it before, either. “It is not an altogether unusual word,” Sir William insisted. “I am sure I have heard the estate spoken of elsewhere.” Charlotte dismissed that, for her father’s travels had been few. It was then that she wondered what could bring Mr Darcy so far south. What indeed? But to journey south was not unusual for Mr Darcy—he spent half the year in London.  
  
“You do not know this Mr Darcy, Father.”  
  
Hurriedly, Sir William agreed with a “No, no, certainly not, why, I enjoyed the honour of being introduced just this evening.”  
  
They were introduced, that much was certainly a fact, but Elizabeth doubted very much Sir William had _enjoyed_ it. His suspicions had waylaid all of his typical delight in a ball and cast a sour tone over the entire event. He was lucky neither she nor Charlotte had been particularly enjoying the assembly; Sir William’s unwarranted wariness would have ruined a pleasant evening.  
  
“I have heard the name before, of course.”  
  
Charlotte looked to Elizabeth. She could only smile weakly at her friend’s exasperation. “But he _is_ a stranger,” Charlotte argued. “You admit it yourself. You may have heard the name in connection with countless other men.”  
  
“Mr William _Kemble._ Of course! How did I not remember sooner? Why, he was all anyone would speak of when I was last at St James’s!”  
  
Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from laughing as Charlotte withered. It was almost impressive that it had taken Sir William so long to link his mysterious distrust of Mr Darcy to his presentation at St. James’s. Truly, his pride have having been to St James’s once and his daughter’s equally powerful refusal to treat it as the single most important event ever witnessed by humanity was a sight to behold. Being too tired to dance, Elizabeth could forgive. Being too tired to appreciate what was surely to come, she could not.  
  
“Father, I beg you not to judge this poor man, whom you have only just met, based on something you think you recall hearing five years ago.”  
  
Sir William leaned close. He dropped his voice. The girls were immediately captivated by both his intensity and newfound capacity to whisper. “I should not, nay, _could not_ forget this! Mr Kemble was the son of an actress—one of _the_ Kembles, you understand. His father was a landowner of some renown in Derbyshire and when he passed, his entire estate was left to the natural son even though he had a daughter by his wife.”  
  
Entirely of their own accord, Elizabeth’s eyes flickered—just for a moment—towards Mr Darcy. He was speaking with one of Mr Bingley’s sisters. In his face, there was a trace of uncommon beauty. One might wish to think the story had merit.  
  
Charlotte did not.  
  
But she had not dissuaded Sir William yet. “The wife was the daughter of a peer—a duke, I think, perhaps an earl—no, it was the Earl of ——, I remember it clearly now. Why, I remember like it was yesterday! He challenged the will on behalf of his neglected granddaughter, but the father had sewn it all up quite well. Secured none other than his Majesty’s approval in every particular. In the end, the girl got only her mother’s dowry back.”  
  
“And her mother?” Charlotte asked. “Where are the provisions the marriage articles specified for her?”  
  
“I do not recall a mother being of concern to anyone.” Sir William shrugged. “I imagine she was dead already. Now, Mr Kemble was required to change his name in order to collect his inheritance. I am absolutely certain, can entertain no doubts at all, that this Mr Darcy is that very man.”  
  
The story nearly begged Elizabeth to turn her attention to Mr Darcy, and she did so willingly. He was walking along the edge of the room now. In his bearing, there _was_ something she would have been inclined to describe as aristocratic had anyone asked. Could he be the grandson of a duke? Or perhaps he was deceitful, an actor well able to mimic the movements of his betters? Or, and this she must admit to being the most probable, was he was a perfectly ordinary gentleman, devoid of ties to the peerage or sordid origins?  
  
But Sir William’s version of events was certainly the more engrossing. “Which Kemble was his mother?”  
  
Sir William shrugged. “There are so many. Who can keep track of such a family?” The easy manners brought on by Elizabeth's willingness to entertain his story as true fell away as quickly as it came on. Very seriously, Sir William added, “I advise you both to stay far away from that man. Your sisters, too, Miss Eliza.”  
  
“Well! That shall be difficult! A man of his income shall fall in love with one of us, if he has not already, by Mama’s decree.”  
  
The moon may often change its face, but Sir William’s was set. The gravity with which he spoke did not lessen. “He is not to be trusted. Everyone at St James’s knows it. Mr Darcy is the worst sort of man in every respect! What a terrible thing for our neighbourhood that Mr Bingley should bring him here!”  
  
And, more to the point, according to Elizabeth’s way of thinking—“And a terrible thing for Jane! If Mr Bingley is friends with men of poor character, we cannot expect him to be any better.”  
  
Imagine such men coming to Meryton! Avoiding creatures like Mr Darcy must be impossible in London, but the Hertfordshire countryside ought to be safe.  
  
Of particular concern were Elizabeth’s two youngest sisters. Jane’s good sense would keep her safe from a gentleman with bad intentions, and Mary was a serious girl whose exhaustive moral reflections would send a seducer running for easier, quieter prey soon enough. Kitty and Lydia, however, were silly flirts. Should they have interests beyond competing for male attention, Elizabeth certainly did not know of any. If danger had come to the neighbourhood, it would find them.  
  
Worry drove her to wakefulness. Elizabeth attached herself to Kitty and Lydia, never letting a dance guide them too far for her to leap to their defence should Mr Darcy approach them.  
  
He never did.  
  
They giggled and danced. They fawned over every gentleman who spoke to them. How simple it was to charm them was on full display. Yet Mr Darcy paid no mind to either Kitty or Lydia.  
  
There were many terrible faults a man might have, but not many could be expected to reveal themselves at a public assembly. Sir William’s worst sort of man might be a gamester, but Mr Darcy did not disappear into the card room. Certainly, the worst sort of man must have drunkenness among his faults, but Mr Darcy did not finish even one glass of wine. Kitty and Lydia were not the only young ladies he neglected; in fact, he did not speak to any woman but those with whom he had arrived.  
  
As the close of the assembly approached, Elizabeth was willing to consign Sir William’s narrative to the realm of fiction, or possibly an accurate tale that just happened to be about a different man. She would have happily forgotten all about it if not for one event:  
  
Couples were arranging themselves for the _Boulanger_ , and Elizabeth’s vigilance had long given way to a desire to go home and to bed when Mr Bingley left Jane’s side to approach his friend. By sheer chance, Elizabeth found herself sitting near enough to the gentlemen that she overheard their entire conversation. It was not particularly interesting and given the behaviour each had exhibited all night, she supposed it was characteristic of them both. Mr Bingley wished for his friend to join the dance and make merry, and Mr Darcy refused. But then Elizabeth heard herself offered up as a partner.  
  
Mr Darcy turned and met her eyes coldly. To Elizabeth’s absolute mortification, he turned his gaze lower, lingering on her body with such evident displeasure that she was at once convinced he was very much the connoisseur of feminine beauty and that she had failed to meet his standards. Another man, and she would have been offended. Another day, and she would have been showing herself to better advantage. But this day, and this man, she knew:  
  
Mr Darcy was a rake and she was fortunate he did not want her.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was proofread by darthmelyanna and Pimprenelle.

  
The comet moved towards twilight, and Mr Bingley stayed.  
  
As any denizen of the country would have predicted, once Mr Bingley gave himself over to the charms of great house and country girl, London no longer tempted him. Netherfield was finally truly occupied. In return for his fidelity, Mr Bingley was awarded all the previously withheld approbation of Meryton society. A young man more grateful for the welcome they could not have found.  
  
Elizabeth was sceptical. But at every turn, Mr Bingley showed himself to be precisely the sort of man she would wish for Jane. His manners were above reproach, his mind well-formed. He was gentle and agreeable, but firm when the situation called for it. Careful study supplied no indication of dissolute habits or irreligious feelings. When she was certain that Mr Bingley was cut from a different cloth than his friend, Elizabeth relented and allowed her sister to like him.  
  
It was a wonder that such friends could be so different! Was Mr Bingley ignorant of Mr Darcy’s nature? Or was he simply so magnanimous that he forgave such defects of character?  
  
Whatever the case, it was certain that they were different, and though Elizabeth would not expect Jane to repress any affection she felt in deference to her sister, she flattered herself that Jane wished for the approval and received it gladly.  
  
On the 5th of November, Jane discovered her Mr Bingley to be as fond of Vingt-un as she.  
  
On the 10th, he walked her home from church, professing to all the world that he had not known the family at Netherfield was expected to join the congregation in Meryton, not Longbourn village.  
  
On the 12th, the dinner Mrs Bennet had been planning since the first moment she heard the name Bingley was finally held, and on the 14th, he asked they join him at Netherfield. “I have got a case of good comet wine,” went the invitation. “Of course, I had wished to have you all over sooner, but the wine came from France, and what with the war being on and all, I did not know when it would arrive. But I have it now, so you had really better come.”  
  
And on the 15th, Elizabeth arrived at Netherfield Park fully prepared to applaud Mr Bingley’s every effusion over her sister and plot Jane’s future happiness as mistress of his house. With a family as large as the Bennets, no invitation was to a small, intimate gathering, but the party was larger than Elizabeth had anticipated. Mr and Mrs Hurst were present, and Miss Bingley and Mr Darcy, but Mr Bingley had also invited the rector from Longbourn church and three gentlemen Elizabeth had never seen before. They had just time enough for introductions to be made and an abbreviated tour of the house before dinner was served.   
  
When the ladies entered the dining room, Jane and her mother vied for seats closest to Mr Bingley’s place while the other ladies dispersed around the table. When the gentlemen entered, one of Mr Bingley’s friends sat next to Elizabeth. She smiled upon his companionship, and in her heart wished two of the new gentlemen had chosen to sit beside her.  
  
To her left sat Mr Darcy.  
  
If only someone else had beaten him to that chair!  
  
On November 5th, Mr Darcy eavesdropped on Elizabeth’s conversations over cards.  
  
On the 10th, he followed her home from church.  
  
On the 12th, Mr Darcy asked her to sing and on the 14th, he simply stared at her while Mr Bingley rattled on about comet wine.  
  
And on the 15th, he must be grateful for the opportunity.  
  
Her beauty did not move him the night of the assembly, but in the weeks since it became apparent that his initial judgement had been found harsh even by Mr Darcy himself. Elizabeth was his prey. Unnerving as this change of fortune was, a not inconsiderable part of Elizabeth was pleased he had chosen her instead of Kitty or Lydia. She trusted herself to be wise enough to see through his lies and stubborn in the face of attacks on her integrity. He knew the house better than she, and he may try to use that to his advantage. Never, Elizabeth vowed, would he separate her from the rest of the party. Not if he promised to show her something interesting in a secluded room or made pitiful excuses. Mr Darcy would find himself to be a poor judge of character indeed if he thought Elizabeth could be seduced!  
  
Although her confidence in her own savvy was unimpeachable, Elizabeth did not relish the thought of being made to defend her honour. Mr Bingley’s friends must be wise to Mr Darcy’s ways. If only they had erected a wall between Elizabeth and Mr Darcy! But as it were, she had only one knight. His name was Mr Evans, and within his armoury was that he had come from London to see Mr Bingley’s new house and he thought that the only interesting thing about himself, his surroundings, and the world at large. His exclamations over what he had left behind were many, his account of his journey hither atrociously detailed, and towards the end of the meal, he finally stopped talking about himself to ask Elizabeth what was probably the only question his mind was capable of producing: “Do _you_ enjoy London, Miss Elizabeth?”  
  
“Oh, no, not from this distance; I can hardly see or hear anything.”  
  
Mr Evans smiled in such a manner that she supposed he knew she had been teasing and had not cared for it. “Surely you visit.”  
  
An hour or so was not enough to exhaust Mr Evans on the subject of London. Since she really did appreciate that his enthusiasm had supplied her with enough pretence to ignore Mr Darcy for an entire meal, Elizabeth answered him sincerely. “I do enjoy town when I go, though I confess it is not as often as I would like.”  
  
“No,” Mr Evans agreed, “you should be wishing to spend half the year in London, I expect.”  
  
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “Ours is a short acquaintance upon which to base such a sweeping declaration.”  
  
“I say nothing out of the ordinary. A house in the country is fine for shooting, or whatever it is ladies do while the men are shooting, but you must have your turn for gaiety as well. The society one finds in London is the most refined in the world.”  
  
“Contrariwise, the most unrefined elements of society are also in town.”  
  
“Dear Miss Elizabeth, you have spent too much time in the country! Provincial people wish to think cities are dens of evil, but I assure you, one need not mix with any unseemly elements. Respectable company and moral entertainments are not at all difficult to come by. I prefer them, and never have I struggled to avoid unsuitable company.”  
  
She could have laughed! Mr Evans kept company with men like Mr Darcy! Elizabeth looked sidelong, braving a glance at her other neighbour.  
  
Mr Darcy had been waiting for her. Too quickly to be natural, he asked, “Did you notice the wine bottles?”  
  
It had not escaped her that Mr Bingley’s table was set with bottles instead of decanters, but Elizabeth had elected to think very little about them. Without waiting for an answer, Mr Darcy reached for a bottle and brought it closer for her inspection. Embossed on the shoulder was a five pointed star with a tail. In spite of herself, Elizabeth smiled. “Is that all it takes to be called comet wine?”  
  
He answered her smiling enquiry with a thoughtfulness that indicated he attached importance to her question. It was an exp ****ression he wore well. “As I understand it, the vigneron claims the Great Comet flew over his fields.”  
  
Were he not so handsome, Mr Darcy’s authoritative tone regarding a vineyard would be comical. Without the appearance of austerity to fall back on, Elizabeth leaned into farcical. With exaggerated solemnity, she nodded. “That all makes it much more official. The grapes were substantially moved by the experience, of course.”  
  
“Ah!” Mr Evans cried. “Darcy wants your attention! Well, Miss Elizabeth, I cannot say it rare for ladies to prefer him to me, but we were discussing town and I beg it of your justice to finish our conversation before you throw me over for him forever.”  
  
Elizabeth froze. Heat spread all over her skin and she struggled to swallow the lump that suddenly sprung up into her throat. How had it been so _easy?_ She thought herself wise to his ways, yet she forgot what he was as quickly as she could look at a bottle. Had he not been interrupted, how soon would Mr Darcy had done away with her good sense?  
  
Elizabeth closed her eyes and took a fortifying breath. She prepared a smile for Mr Evans and answered him. “Of course. I believe you were just telling me how you never go to the theatre.”  
  
He appeared confused for a moment, but soon enough was able to leap from his stated preference of moral entertainments to avoiding Drury Lane. “The theatre is perfectly respectable when one is a patron.”  
  
“You argue there is no hypocrisy in moral repulsion at those who make it their profession while also enjoying the fruits of their labour?”  
  
A look of incredulity crossed Mr Evans’s face. A hint of a laugh passed his lips, and he looked past her, at Mr Darcy. “I do not, and I shall tell you why: I do not go to the theatre to enjoy the _performance.”_  
  
Elizabeth bristled. So he thought her so provincial she could not understand that insinuation? She could not abide such a shameless display. Alas, her own quiver held naught but teasing. “Oh, dear. Had you told me there could be no hypocrisy because your passion for drama forbade you from thinking ill of anyone who dedicated their life to the stage, you would fare much better.”  
  
Mr Evans did laugh this time. “Upon my word! I shall say exactly that the next time the subject comes up!”  
  
Welcome was Miss Bingley’s ushering of the ladies to the drawing room soon thereafter. Elizabeth sat alone, ordering her thoughts. At the beginning of the evening, she had judged Mr Evans to be a common rattle. He was not interesting or clever, but when there were men like Mr Darcy in the party, those were not great failings. Her vigilance concerning _him_ had not extended as far as Mr Bingley’s other friends. And for most of the evening, Mr Evans had seemed at least kind. But his looking past her to make comments intended for Mr Darcy, his pointed words about the allure of the theatre not being in the performance—what could he mean but other immoral acts associated with actresses? Had he intended a snide remark about Mr Darcy’s origin? An unseemly acknowledgement of favours they both enjoyed? Whatever his reasons, Mr Evan’s comment changed the way Elizabeth viewed their entire conversation. Words she originally presumed innocent seemed less so now.  
  
How fortunate Mr Bingley was to have chosen Hertfordshire! Distance would soon put an end to friendships with gentlemen like Mr Darcy and Mr Evans, and the life of a country squire was sure to make him wonder why he ever pursued them at all.  
  
The bustle of a lively drawing room provided sufficient distraction for Elizabeth’s contemplative mood to go unnoticed. Kitty and Lydia argued first over which of Mr Bingley’s friends was the most dashing, and then over which of them was his favourite. Mary was at the piano-forte, searching for something that would do her credit. The Bennet family’s ignorance of Mr Bingley’s other guests meant Mary was unprepared to exhibit her talents, but an audience meant she must. Miss Bingley’s table was so well set that Mrs Bennet was in raptures and intent on forcing their host to listen to every single one. Dear Jane and Mrs Hurst tried to rescue Miss Bingley to no avail.  
  
The ladies were left to themselves for about an hour, after which the gentlemen joined them and put an end to all of their pursuits. Mr Bingley and his friends sauntered into the drawing room with long, loose strides, laughing freely from faces pinched by wide smiles. For a moment, the air was thick with the disparity. The young men were in their cups, carelessly enjoying an evening with pretty women. Evenings spent in the company of single men were very different for ladies. Their futures hinged on marriages to respectable men, and Mr Bingley’s flirtation with Jane was the most promising prospect any of the Bennets had ever had.  
  
But then, perhaps Elizabeth only imagined the tension. It faded quickly. Kitty and Lydia happily rushed to the side of their dinner companions. Mrs Bennet accosted Mr Bingley, urging him to admire Jane, though encouragement was hardly necessarily.  
  
Groups formed naturally, and Elizabeth was just thinking of joining her father and the rector when Mr Darcy approached her. His movements lacked the artlessness of his friends, his face had lost none of its composure. “You must excuse Evans.”  
  
Whatever she had expected him to say, it was not that. “Pardon?”  
  
Mr Darcy clasped his hands behind his back. Looking down his nose—he was so tall, it really was unfair that he compounded his height advantage by standing over her while she sat—he declared, “Do not waste your offence on comments unworthy of it.”  
  
Elizabeth stood. He would still be looking down at her, but she could not help it any better than she already had. “I shall be the judge of what deserves my feelings. In any case, ours is so brief an acquaintance that it hardly matters. I do not expect Mr Evans and I shall be much in each other’s company.”  
  
“No, I imagine not. But rather than indulging yourself in offence because it does not harm him, should you not forget it because he cannot harm you?”  
  
Before Mr Darcy’s unexpected command, Elizabeth had been unable to decide whether Mr Evans was wishing to offend him or slyly allude to something they had in common. His reaction confirmed Mr Evans’s intentions were to antagonise.  
  
“Curious that you defend a man who sought to offend _you.”_  
  
The smallest of smiles graced Mr Darcy’s lips. “Perhaps I simply do not worry myself over the opinions of gentlemen unworthy of the sobriquet.”  
  
Elizabeth smiled back, a wry quirk of her lips. “Congratulate yourself on being wiser than I. You see, I have sat with my offence this past hour or so and have become rather fond of it. I believe I shall keep it.”  
  
“As is your right, of course, but if I may make one final attempt to unburden you—it is true Evans does not go to the theatre to enjoy the performance. He is a social creature. He attends the theatre so that he might be seen there, and spends his time moving from box to box, greeting everyone he sees.”  
  
That was so different from Mr Evans’s insinuation that Elizabeth cried, “Why would he not simply _say_ that?” But then again, they had already divined the answer.  
  
“He would not have spoken as he did if he thought you would grasp the insinuation.”  
  
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “You really ought to stop, sir. My offence grows stronger with your every attempt to weaken it. If this is the usual manner of character Mr Evans receives, I cannot be surprised he says ladies prefer you.”  
  
Mr Darcy turned red.  
  
Bile rose in her throat. _“Oh.”_  
  
The colour drained from his face. “No, Miss Elizabeth, please. That is—there are some ladies of my acquaintance—cousins, actually—to whom Evans has expressed an interest in being introduced, but they have declined.”  
  
Well. Elizabeth could hardly blame them. That did not explain why Mr Darcy had flushed. Elizabeth was about to press him further when she realised—  
  
Actresses.  
  
They were _actresses_ and though Mr Darcy portrayed Mr Evans as more innocent than his words seemed to imply, it was because women of ill-repute refused his society and not because of his own innate morality. Was the man without shame?  
  
Discordant music filled her ears.  
  
In another corner of the room, Mary had begun playing the piano-forte. It was a lively number.  
  
“Your sisters are forming a dance,” Mr Darcy observed. “Shall we join them?”  
  
“No.” Elizabeth stepped back. “I thank you, no.”  
  
She hurried to her father.   
  


* * *

  
Once ought to have satisfied her.  
  
To have seen it at all was a blessing for which she nearly failed to hope. Yet, as the comet continued its inexorable journey through space, Elizabeth found herself thinking of it more and more. If only she had a telescope! With proper aid, she could not only see the Great Comet again, but really admire it. And when it had gone, a telescope would promote study of other equally worthy heavenly objects. With a telescope, one could see the rings and moons of Saturn. With a telescope, William Herschel had discovered an entirely new planet! Never could she see that with the naked eye!  
  
Yearnings for a telescope aside, Elizabeth was not unhappy. Mr Evans and his two companions returned to London as quickly as they had come, doubtless in pursuit of indigent actresses open to making new acquaintances. Kitty and Lydia were disappointed, but Elizabeth looked on the defection with grim satisfaction. If only Mr Darcy had gone with them! _He_ remained installed at Netherfield.  
  
Why Mr Bingley tolerated such a man living under the same roof as his own sisters, Elizabeth could not guess. A small degree of inattention could be excused—Mrs Hurst was married, after all, and the lion’s share of her stewardship belonged to her husband. A sign of true deficiency from Mr Bingley would be worrisome. Once he was married to Jane, he would no doubt see things differently. A man had a duty to protect his wife and broaden her knowledge of the world. When Mr Bingley came to understand what, precisely, his friendship with Mr Darcy and his ilk was teaching Jane, his better instincts would take over. And should they not—well, Jane was a woman of sense and tact. She would find some way to gently broach the subject where Mrs Hurst had failed and Miss Bingley’s maidenly sensibilities forbade the attempt.  
  
Refuge in imagination—whether it was designing her own future study of the heavens or the expulsion of Mr Bingley’s stubborn house guest—was sadly necessary. The Bennets had a guest of their own. He came to them the Monday after Mr Bingley’s dinner, taking all the ladies of the house quite by surprise.  
  
Their shock was not Mr Collins’s fault; he had written to Mr Bennet on October 15th to warn of his impending arrival. That, Elizabeth would forgive. In other respects however… Mr Collins was a distant relation whom none of the family had ever met before, a history which caused them less grief with every passing day. A curious mixture of humility and self-importance, Mr Collins was good enough to recognise the evil he represented to the Bennets and enamoured with himself well enough to feel the solution to the problem presented by the entail was a marriage between himself and one of the sisters. Although this plan earned him Mrs Bennet’s approval, all of the potential brides were decidedly set against him.  
  
Jane was saved from any attempts at matchmaking by Mr Bingley’s prior claim. Elizabeth, next in age and beauty, could not voice the only kind thought she had for Mr Collins—that he picked his company better than Mr Bingley—and so had nothing to say of Mr Collins at all. Kitty and Lydia mourned the disappearance of Mr Bingley’s friends for about a day and a half before remembering no gentleman was as handsome as a man in a red coat and placed the allegiance of their hearts with the officers of the __ shire militia, never sparing Mr Collins a second glance. The officers were a better match for their spirits than a clergyman, and their love was safer when given to a man who did not have the freedom to leave Meryton without the permission of his colonel.  
  
Their friendship with the officers was aided by Mrs Phillips. Wife of an attorney and sister to Mrs Bennet, Aunt Phillips occupied a precarious place in Meryton society. No one wished for an attorney at their table, but a family so closely connected with the Bennets of Longbourn could not be neglected either. The Phillipses were not high enough to be welcomed in the first circles of local society nor low enough to be an object of pity. Cold suppers and conveniently located rooms suited the visiting officers very well, and her salon became the principal place for the flirtations of genteel daughters. Since the officers had come, Kitty and Lydia had taken to walking to Mrs Phillips’s house daily. Mr Collins’s arrival meant Elizabeth and Jane began joining them. As is so often the way with men who are disliked by young ladies, Mr Collins appeared wholly unaware of any objection to his presence and their sneaking out of the house meant he leapt to join them.  
  
This party of five was engaged in walking to Meryton when Lydia squealed, “Mr Denny is back! I knew he would be back today!” She gestured eagerly to the corner where her current favourite was engaged in conversation with another gentleman.  
  
Kitty, to whom this comment was chiefly addressed, did all Lydia could have wished by answering, “Of course you knew! I thought you might—you were so sly when he was gone! But who is that with him? No matter, we shan’t like anyone as much as we like Mr Denny!”  
  
 _“You_ may like whoever you want! Mr Denny shan’t like anyone as much as he likes _me!”_ Regarding the stranger, Lydia added, “That fellow would be handsome in a red coat, but he isn’t much without one.”  
  
Mr Denny and his companion approached their party, and upon receiving permission to introduce his friend explained that Mr Wickham had lately accepted a commission in their corps. Though the gentleman could not know this intelligence surely upgraded him from “not much” to “handsome” in the eyes of the ladies, he readily engaged them in conversation. His charm, manners and figure all but promised Mr Denny would be unable to retain his current position of favourite for long. Luckily, his ceding of ground in Lydia’s heart was interrupted by the sound of approaching horses.  
  
Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy were riding towards them.  
  
Jane beamed.  
  
In his words, Mr Bingley had all the usual civilities for everyone, was glad to make the acquaintance of Mr Denny’s friend, hoped all their families were in good health, etc. but in deed, he looked only at Jane, spoke only to Jane.  
  
Mr Darcy was silent.  
  
Elizabeth rather expected to be the object of his attention and was surprised to see Mr Darcy’s formidable stare to be turned on Mr Wickham instead. Mr Darcy touched his hat, a salutation Mr Wickham did not return. Thoroughly chastised by Mr Wickham’s rebuke, Mr Darcy made a hurried excuse for himself and departed.  
  
What _was_ this strange power of Mr Wickham’s? Never before had Elizabeth seen Mr Darcy retreat! Why, he had admitted to her himself that he did not care about the opinions of others!   
  
The abrupt flight of his friend roused barely a shrug in Mr Bingley. He enquired about the party’s intentions, and upon hearing they were to see Mrs Phillips, invited himself to join them.  
  
Upon their arrival, Mrs Phillips proved once again her value as a host, for she took on the burden of entertaining Mr Collins. Jane was occupied by Mr Bingley, and Kitty, likely suspecting Lydia could be made to throw over Mr Denny, endeavoured to win him for herself. This naturally led to Lydia being moved to defend her claim. Consequently, Elizabeth had the mysterious Mr Wickham to herself. She was wild to know more about his history with Mr Darcy, but they had only just met. How to introduce the subject?  
  
“Forgive my asking, but I had not expected to encounter Kemble—that is to say, Mr Darcy. How long has he been in the neighbourhood?”  
  
 _Kemble._ Her own experiences with Mr Darcy had already convinced Elizabeth of the veracity of Sir William’s story, but the use of the name by another person confirmed it. No wonder Mr Wickham cut him! And why Mr Darcy would flee from such a gentleman! Elizabeth composed herself before answering, “Since mid-October.”  
  
Mr Wickham frowned. “Long enough that I ought to have heard of it, then. Tell me, how is he thought of among local society?”  
  
“His reputation preceded him.”  
  
Nodding, Mr Wickham said, “He must have thought he could escape it, coming this far into the country.”  
  
“If we are not ignorant and isolated enough to please him, I will not regret it!” Mr Darcy was no different than Mr Evans, thinking he could say and do whatever he liked, assured that country girls knew nothing of the world.  
  
“How I envy you! There is something satisfying in a firmly held opinion. My own thoughts are often difficult to order.”  
  
Disappointment lanced through her. She should have known better than to think a man could truly be of one mind with a woman when it came to a rake. “I imagine so,” Elizabeth said coolly. “Men are capable of understanding immorality, but often struggle with condemning it.”  
  
“You are not wrong—we are often hypocrites in precisely that manner. Yet, where Kemble is concerned...Forgive me! It has been five years and I am still not accustomed to calling him _Darcy!_ In my mind, the words _Mr Darcy_ belong to a very different man.”  
  
“You knew his father?”  
  
“Knew him?” Mr Wickham smiled, a sad smile that was far and away. Wistful. “For most of my life, I thought he was _my_ father.”  
  
Elizabeth started.  
  
“My father (a better man there never was, you shall understand that soon) was the steward of all Darcy properties. I was born and lived nearly all my life on their largest estate. Kemble came to live there when we were children. It took us some years to grasp the particulars of the situation, but as I understand it, Mr Darcy had a long-standing arrangement with an actress in London and when she spurned him for another man, he forced the guardianship of their natural child in a fit of pique.  
  
“Kemble was distraught, as any child in his place would have been. As I was a boy on the estate about the same age, Mr Darcy decided I ought to be his son’s companion. His subsequent affection for me gained an undeserved stature in our minds. Kemble and I convinced ourselves that I, too, was secretly Mr Darcy’s son.”  
  
It seemed to Elizabeth that this misunderstanding was a source of shame for poor Mr Wickham now. “Children do not understand the world,” she suggested gently. “Given the circumstances, it is not so unreasonable.”  
  
Grim, he said, “Our misunderstanding persisted well after what you’d find acceptable in a young child. When Mr Darcy married and had a daughter, the fantastic destinies we imagined for ourselves became all the more assured. Georgiana was to be a beautiful, sought after heiress, and her unrecognised brothers would guard her from the shadows. I was committed to the idea of protecting my sister, and I thought Kemble was as well, but as we grew older, he was drawn more and more to the women of Drury Lane.”  
  
Though unsurprised, Elizabeth could not help but look away.  
  
“He was his father’s son, had inherited his father’s weakness, I’m afraid. There was one woman in particular I remember him speaking of frequently; he wished to give her all that she deserved and the usual cliches. It worked on his father, certainly. No doubt remembering his own youthful adoration of an actress, Mr Darcy deprived his daughter of her rightful inheritance and left it all to the son so that he could try to win a woman with trinkets. A woman who, if I recall correctly, spurned Kemble to marry a theatre manager not long after.”  
  
How utterly vile!  
  
“You can imagine my anger,” Mr Wickham continued. “What future was Georgiana to have? How could they have betrayed her so thoroughly?”  
  
“That poor girl!”  
  
“Even so, I have come to regard my father as the greatest victim. He and my mother always told me I was their child, but it was not until Kemble’s betrayal that I believed it. My father was dead well before that. How he must have felt, knowing I thought as I did!”  
  
Miss Darcy had champions in her mother’s family. To be rejected by her father and brother must have been painful, but she had an earl to defend her. She would have a comfortable life and no doubt marry very well. William Kemble had been stolen from his mother as a child and been punished when he tried to repeat his father’s mistakes in the affairs of the heart, but he now enjoyed the wealth and power of the Darcy name. His suffering on the account of the woman who spurned him was likely long over, replaced by the power to do as he wished. It was Mr Wickham and his family who were the true victims.  
  
“And Mr Darcy—that is, Mr Kemble as was—did he throw you off as well?”  
  
Mr Wickham pressed his lips together. “He did, but I must accept that it was my own fault. I was so angry over their betrayal and by all that had happened that I turned on him. I must make my own way in the world, which is what led me here, to the __ shire militia. I regret that I do not have the means to order my own life as I would wish, and so I cannot remove myself from his influence. Worst of all, I question if I truly wish to. As I said before, I envy the firmness of your opinions. Myself, I still miss my brother sometimes.”  
  
“Perhaps you may one day reconcile.”  
  
“Perhaps—but would that be for the best? I do not know.”  
  
It was certainly a conundrum! Yes, Elizabeth could understand the pull Mr Darcy still maintained over Mr Wickham, but also his reluctance to reconcile. Could Mr Wickham make allowances for Mr Darcy out of brotherly love? Should he? It was all a muddle.  
  
Another person with firm opinions cut into her contemplation. Mr Bingley announced an intention of hosting a ball at Netherfield!  
  
Mr Wickham smiled. “Miss Elizabeth, will you do me the honour of a dance?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta'd by Darthmelyanna and Pimprenelle.

Netherfield Park had stood vacant for years. Elizabeth was a child when the owners were forced to retrench, made to leave their home for cheaper accommodations owing to poor management of their income. Tenants did not materialise. The family never returned. The house became something of a spectre, always reminding the neighbourhood of absent friends and the ever present danger of living with the habit of spending more than one ought. 

It was a lesson her own parents refused to learn, first believing all financial concerns would be made inconsequential by the inevitable birth of a son, and when that failed to happen, the assumption that it was too late for reformation to make a difference. Their land would someday belong to another, and their daughters’ inheritances were to be pitiful.

With regards to Netherfield, there remained an amusement that came with speculation. For someone too young to be included in dinners, balls and society when the family had been the darlings of the neighbourhood, Elizabeth had always longed to experience the full splendour of Netherfield Park. How had the fond reminiscence of its revelries so overshadowed the evils they should all take care to never repeat?

Mr Bingley’s dinner had not answered that question. Elizabeth had not even asked it. She had been thinking only of Jane and her beau. A ball would show the house to its full advantage, allow her to paint in her mind’s eye a clear image of the stories she had heard.

Netherfield was hot.

Mr Bingley’s love for society had attracted guests from both the neighbourhood and beyond. Drifting through the crush were voices Elizabeth both recognised and not. Red coats mingled with white gowns. She watched the musicians sit, silent and idle, awaiting their cue to begin the festivities.

When Miss Bingley called the first dance, her brother guided Jane to the top of the set. Although Jane’s worth had been evident to anyone all her life, Mr Bingley was the first gentleman to offer the distinction she so richly deserved. He could raise her above the frenetic family into which she had been born. Jane was all that was good and serene; she belonged leading this chorus of white gowns and graceful movements. When Mr Bingley inevitably offered marriage, everything would be laid open before Jane. Until then, he gave her a dance, a hand that lingered too long and adoration that he hid from no one.

Elizabeth was fortunate Mr Wickham was not jealous. It would be natural for a gentleman to feel neglected by a partner who thought more about another couple than himself. Mr Wickham understood. A faster friend she had never made. As often as he could, Mr Wickham made his escape to Longbourn, keeping Elizabeth in good cheer even though a succession of rainy days had kept her indoors and snuffed her hopes for catching sight of the stars. Had the life of an officer’s wife held any appeal, Elizabeth would be as in love with Mr Wickham as Jane with Mr Bingley! But as it were, he understood that his company was valued as a friend and her love belonged first to her sister.

Elizabeth had been unable to avoid promising the second set to Mr Collins. He had all the grace of an elephant and trod on her toes with about as much force. Around them, couples stepped and turned, determined to continue the dance even when it required them to improvise new steps that went around a gentleman too busy apologising to move himself to the right place.

For the two third, Elizabeth danced with Mr Bingley himself.

And although the officers meant there was no shortage of gentlemen at the ball, afterwards Elizabeth found herself in the not unfamiliar position of being without a partner. Mr Wickham danced the two fourth with her sister Mary. It was a kindness even greater than what she had come to expect from him. The chronic outnumbering of ladies over gentlemen had long hurt Mary the most. She was without a partner so often that she had taken to claiming she preferred not to dance just to avoid being an object of pity. Mary’s skills as a dancer had not developed as well as those of more favoured ladies, but Elizabeth was confident that a partner as charming as Mr Wickham would soon put any worry about her own performance out of Mary’s head. 

“How are you enjoying the ball, Miss Elizabeth?”

She started. How underhanded of Mr Darcy to employ such stealth! Elizabeth had not even noticed his approach! She remembered seeing him dance the first set with Miss Bingley, the second with Mrs Hurst and then he disappeared.

Elizabeth swallowed her surprise and gave the reply that had, until this moment, been true. “Very much.”

Mr Wickham and Mary were awaiting their turn. He said something that made her laugh and Elizabeth smiled. How often did Mary laugh? Jane was radiantly happy, too, of course, speaking to Mr Bingley in an alcove that almost gave them some privacy.

“Meryton society was slow to accept Mr Bingley,” Elizabeth admitted, “but he has certainly earned many years of good will tonight.”

“I regret how unlikely it is that he shall stay to enjoy it.”

“Oh, I think he can be induced to stay.” Perhaps he forgot all could still see him in the near privacy of the alcove or perhaps he did not care, but either way Elizabeth watched with satisfaction as Mr Bingley whispered into her sister’s ear.

With gravity that seemed at odds with the happy occasion, Mr Darcy replied, “He would agree, should you ask him. But I find wherever Mr Bingley goes, he is content. When he is in the country, he never wishes to leave, and when he is in the city, he feels the same.”

Elizabeth pursed her lips. Mr Darcy’s assessment of his friend was blatantly inaccurate. True, when Mr Bingley first let Netherfield, he was often going to town, but he never stayed if he could avoid it. She could attribute Mr Darcy’s words only to his own resentment of losing influence over Mr Bingley. “How fortunate Mr Bingley is to have a friend like you, willing to determine his feelings wherever he goes! We all must reconcile ourselves to that kind service no longer being necessary; Mr Bingley has a house now, and I expect that will be the primary force in deciding where he stays from now on.”

“A lease is temporary.”

“In Mr Bingley’s case, I understand it is a step towards purchase. You do not suggest he shall buy a house on legs that may walk back and forth between the country and the city on a whim?”

It was a pretty picture of absurdity; Mr Darcy agreed well enough to smile. Elizabeth smiled back without intending to. 

“Shall I enquire if there is any comet wine left?”

Heat lanced through her and the smile fell from her lips. “No.” Suddenly, she wished for relief from the crowded ballroom. “That will not be necessary.”

“Negus, perhaps?”

Elizabeth inhaled. Mr Darcy made a habit of trying to ply her with wine. In the future, she must be more cautious with her smiles. The reflex of answering his smile with her own did not mean she was amenable to any schemes. “I see you will not be happy until you have fetched me something.”

Mr Darcy raised his eyebrows slightly, but remained attentive. 

“Let me think. There must be something I cannot refuse.” Since Elizabeth could not ask him to leave her be, she settled on another outrageous demand: “I promise I would not refuse if you were to bring me Mr Bingley’s telescope.”

His brow furrowed. “It is very likely to rain tonight.”

Elizabeth grinned and swayed. “Assure Mr Bingley I would not let it be washed away!”

“I was thinking more of clouds obstructing your view.”

“Oh! Well, in that case, a telescope will keep until a clear night.”

“And if it should be twelve feet long?”

Her hands nearly betrayed her, useless things nearly clapping with delight. A twelve-foot telescope! Elizabeth could scarcely imagine what could be seen with an instrument so powerful! “Then you should have thought of that before you offered! Off you go!”

“Regrettably, Mr Bingley does not own a telescope.”

Although Mr Darcy really did sound as though he found Mr Bingley’s telescope deficiency lamentable, the synchrony of their feelings was barely discernible through the haze of her own disappointment. She had not lost anything through his admission. The twelve-foot telescope had existed only in her own imagination. And yet, Elizabeth felt as though she had been on the precipice of astronomical discovery.

He was a cruel man.

“Twelve feet was rather specific.”

Mr Darcy appeared oblivious to her petulance. “It is the length of my own telescope at Pemberley.”

Where had Sir William said the estate was? Derbyshire? Elizabeth silently amended her opinion: Mr Darcy was a _very_ cruel man.

“A telescope which,” Mr Darcy continued, “I could _not_ be tempted to have delivered to a ballroom no matter your inducements.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Oh, yes, my _inducements._ One can hardly stop me from inciting the delivery of telescopes!”

He smiled, and though he was usually quite beautiful, there was something about this expression that was profoundly off-putting. “You jest, of course, but I expect there is little you desire which you cannot have.”

It was true, after a fashion. Elizabeth rarely pained herself by yearning for that which she could not have, and so the things she _did_ want were almost always within her grasp. It was disconcerting to feel that Mr Darcy recognised that about her. But broadly speaking, her situation was not ideal. “You forget we are not all as rich as you, sir.”

Mr Darcy started. “I do not. Pray excuse me. I fear I have taken up too much of your time.”

He bowed slightly, and left.

* * *

Elizabeth enjoyed the company of Mr Wickham during both supper and the preceding dance. His account of the evening fascinated Elizabeth. He was as keen an observer of mankind as she, and it was interesting to see where his impression of her neighbours aligned with and differed from hers. Hers was the advantage of a lifetime of familiarity and study; his, of being generally unbiased.

They parted ways after soup. Mr Wickham was keen to have a battle of wits with Charlotte Lucas over a dance. He knew he was going to lose, the dear man, but he claimed to be eager to know just how wide the gulf between himself and Charlotte really was.

But when the dance began, Elizabeth did not see Charlotte or Mr Wickham in the line. She made quick work of locating her friend.

“Mr Wickham wished to dance with you!”

Charlotte shrugged. “He asked and I accepted, but he saw Mr Darcy and left to speak with him.”

If Mr Wickham intended to reconcile, Elizabeth supposed she ought to support it, but really, he must know he was better off without Mr Darcy’s friendship. In their every conversation on the subject, Mr Wickham seemed unwilling to make a decision. She doubted a situation as complex as theirs could be resolved in a single conversation in the midst of a ball. Curiosity unable to be sated without the participation of at least one of the gentlemen, Elizabeth and Charlotte distracted themselves with talk of other things.

Had Elizabeth remembered to think of the gentlemen at all, she might have predicted Mr Wickham would interrupt their conversation to whisk Charlotte away for the promised dance. Or, since Mr Darcy was so dreadful and silent, he might be found skulking about the edges of the room in a foul temper. But her conversation with Charlotte was, as conversations with dear friends so often are, engrossing, and she soon forgot all about the question of the gentlemen.

“Pardon me, Miss Elizabeth.”

Both ladies were startled to have their conversation interrupted by Mr Darcy. It was the second time he had caught Elizabeth unawares! Almost as an afterthought, he added, “Miss Lucas,” and then continued to address only Elizabeth: “If you are not otherwise engaged, would you do me the honour of dancing the next with me?”

She accepted, and he walked away again immediately.

To Charlotte’s disbelieving looks, Elizabeth answered, “For Mr Wickham’s sake.”

About half an hour later, Mr Darcy returned to claim Elizabeth’s hand. Her ideas of divining what Mr Wickham wished and championing his case to Mr Darcy seemed very real when she plotted potential conversations with Charlotte, but when actually standing opposite Mr Darcy in a line of couples, it seemed absurd. To simply ask him what he and Mr Wickham had spoken of would be gauche. Had she been able to share her intentions with Mr Wickham herself, surely he would have provided her with some useful intelligence, but he had not emerged again. 

She took her place in the set. They stood for some time without speaking a word, and Elizabeth began to imagine that their silence was to last through the two dances. At first, she was determined not to be the one to break it, but silence did not suit her at all, and she began making idle observations about the room and the number of couples. Mr Darcy would give whatever Elizabeth said a curt, economical reply and again fall silent.

After they had gone down the dance, however, he surprised her by asking, “Are you and your sisters often walking to Meryton?”

It was precisely the opening she would have wished for. He could have said nothing better to suit her purposes. “We are. When you met us there the other day, we had just been forming a new acquaintance.”

“Mr Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends—whether he may be equally capable of _retaining_ them, is less certain.”

Mr Darcy’s evident bitterness was not so surprising. Even Mr Wickham’s own account cast him as the party to wrong Mr Darcy. If reconciliation was why Mr Wickham approached him, should Mr Darcy not feel something positive? If not joy at the restoration of brotherhood, then satisfaction at receiving an apology? “If,” she suggested cautiously, “he has lost your friendship, he may find it a difficult thing to endure.”

Mr Darcy appeared incredulous. “His suffering is great indeed!”

Such a callous way to speak! “Have you no pity?”

“No, none at all.”

Elizabeth was really appalled by Mr Darcy’s unfeeling attitude towards Mr Wickham’s plight. Her friend deserved a better defence than silence, but she did not know what she could say without risking losing her composure. She and Mr Darcy stood opposite one another, neither willing to surrender.

At that moment, Sir William Lucas appeared close to them, meaning to pass through the set to the other side of the room; but on perceiving Elizabeth with Mr Darcy, he stopped, bowed and asked the gentleman if he might borrow his partner for a moment. Mr Darcy’s assent was won likely entirely by the perplexion that arose from being applied to at all.

“Miss Eliza,” Sir William said gently once they could be sure they were out of Mr Darcy’s earshot, “I am greatly saddened to see you disregard my advice.”

“I have never disregarded it, sir. I always do my best to avoid him, but it is not always within my power. At a private ball, I fear there is only so much distance to be had. I do not believe there to be any danger in standing in a line with him.” 

Sir William was not mollified by Elizabeth’s assurance, but she returned to her partner nonetheless.

“Is anything the matter?”

“Oh! No!” Hardly able to confess Sir William’s reasons for absconding with her to Mr Darcy, Elizabeth concocted the least controversial excuse she could think of. “Sir William asked me to deliver his congratulations to Jane and Mr Bingley.” 

The allusion seemed to strike him forcibly. With a very serious expression, Mr Darcy looked up the line to where Jane was dancing with Mr Bingley. It went on for so long that Elizabeth began to feel as though he no longer knew she was there. When he recollected her, he muttered, “I have forgotten what we were talking of.”

The change that had come over Mr Darcy was unfathomable. She had failed to be Mr Wickham’s champion. “It was probably nothing,” Elizabeth replied. “Sir William could not have interrupted any two people in the room who had less to say to one another.”

The rest of their dance passed in silence.

* * *

All things considered, to be the wife of a clergyman was not a terrible idea. The position offered the best of both industry and comfort, society and solitude. There was also security, and when one was accustomed to life without it, that was very appealing.

Not appealing enough to accept Mr Collins’s proposal, but in the abstract, yes, to be the wife of a clergyman was a good prospect. Mr Collins was dreadful. Deficiencies in dancing Elizabeth could forgive, but any man she would marry needed more cleverness than the Lord had seen fit to give Mr Collins. Neither could she favour a man who displayed such wanton entitlement. It was good of him to recognise the evil of the Bennets’ situation and his own culpability in it. But he seemed to think that alone meant he could choose a bride from among the sisters and she had no say in the matter.

Elizabeth refused him, resolutely and unequivocally.

The disbelief with which he received this rejection had served his case not at all. Once her father had his share of the conversation, the idea was put to rest, and now that it was over, Elizabeth could admit in the privacy of her own thoughts that while she would never be the wife of Mr Collins, there might be another rector in the kingdom who could suit her. 

Men like Mr Darcy did not ply the wives of clergymen with alcohol or test their meager charms at seduction.

Mr Collins threatened to ruin the morning after the ball with his theatrics, but he soon disappeared to nurse his wounded pride. Mrs Bennet stormed upstairs shouting that she would never speak to Elizabeth again. Mr Bennet had exhausted his will to converse for the day and shut himself up with his books. And Elizabeth, cheerfulness intact, roamed the house in search of Jane. It was impossible to say too much on the subject of Jane’s future happiness, but Elizabeth would feel herself remiss if she did not try.

She found her favourite sister in their room.

Jane was tranquil—she was never anything but. Yet, never before had Elizabeth seen her sister struggle to maintain that composure. She almost failed to recognise the facade for what it was.

“Dearest Jane! What is the matter?” Elizabeth hurried to her sister’s side. 

Jane sat on the bed. She pressed the paper she held into Elizabeth’s hands. “I have had a letter from Caroline Bingley.”

Elizabeth had never been fond of Miss Bingley, but if Jane was to marry her brother, it would hardly do for correspondence to produce this sort of reaction. She took the letter. Without skimming it, Elizabeth said, “I am sure it is not all bad. To be as supercilious as she would wish is probably difficult in letter form.”

Jane shuddered. “She writes her entire party has gone to town with no intention of returning.”

The idea was so absurd that Elizabeth could hardly credit Jane being so upset over it. “Mr Bingley always returns. Have you already forgotten how he used to go to town for a day or two often when he first came here? He always came back and that was before he had _you_ to return to.”

“This time is different.” Jane gestured to the letter. “I know he used to go to town often, but it was always because he was obliged. This time, Caroline writes to say they are settling for the winter in London and are unlikely to come back in the spring.”

Elizabeth read it.

The letter was twice as long as it needed to be for the information it conveyed. Miss Bingley wasted half a sheet of paper with insincere laments over lost friendships. When she finally broached the subject of Mr Bingley’s defection, she became concise and authoritative. 

Mr Bingley had left, and Jane ought to forget him.

Well! Miss Bingley may write her words with all the authority she wished, but her brother was beyond her rule. Elizabeth would be very surprised if Mr Bingley did not return by the end of the week.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow that took a while
> 
> This chapter has been beta'd by Darthmelyanna, Ms Pimprenelle and ClaireLily.

The comet’s light faded, and Mr Bingley stayed away.

One may expect fashion to change with the season, but Elizabeth found exodus remained the style in Meryton. The first and most injurious defection was that of Mr Bingley. Jane became an object of pity among their neighbours. Heartbreak at least saved her from humiliation. Jane could not rally the energy for both. Elizabeth looked on with an unfamiliar impotence. Even in sorrow, Jane was serene. Teasing did not coax a smile from her. After a fortnight, Elizabeth abandoned her conviction that Mr Bingley would return. Somehow, continuing to hold onto hope seemed worse. 

Mr Collins left next. Every leg of his journey was scheduled ahead of time. A prompt letter of thanks to his hosts was promised and Mr Bennet received it on precisely the day Mr Collins said he would. Superior mastery in polite leave taking did little to endear him to anyone pleased to see him go.

At Christmas, Longbourn experienced a brief reversal of fortunes. Mrs Bennet’s brother and his wife came to visit, bearing gifts, news, and magazines. Meryton had been lively despite the loss of Mr Bingley and his party, but the Bennets had not enjoyed society to the degrees they might otherwise have. In seeking the best of all possible entertainments for Mr and Mrs Gardiner, the younger sisters began to remember what it was to be merry. Jane’s disappointment was as relentless as it had ever been, even a month on. Distractions, novelties, and a change of scenery must do her good. When the Gardiners returned home to London, Jane accompanied them.

Her aunt and uncle occupied a very different sphere than Mr Bingley. Elizabeth would not deny that. Mrs Gardiner especially cautioned Jane, in the most delicate language, against supposing their scheme was to reunite lost lovers. Yet, Elizabeth thought, it was nevertheless very _likely_ that once Mr Bingley learnt Jane was in town, he _would_ renew the acquaintance. He could not have forgotten how he loved her.

Elizabeth was, if not assured of Jane’s happiness, at least more hopeful than she had allowed herself to be in the previous weeks. She preferred to think of things that brought her satisfaction so as the new year dawned, she thought of Jane quite often and Charlotte as little as possible.

Elizabeth would not stir herself into an outrage over the entailment of her father’s land. It would change nothing. Nor would she begrudge Mr Collins his bad luck of being Mr Bennet’s nearest male relation. His circumstances bore none of the blame for Elizabeth’s opinion of the man. What was difficult to reconcile was Charlotte’s opinion. Charlotte had always professed different views of marriage than her own, but Elizabeth had never expected her friend to throw herself into the power of just anyone for the sake of an establishment. Mr Collins had found a woman willing to feign ignorance of his defects, and Charlotte soon followed her husband to his home. 

Mr Wickham stayed. Perhaps he had once found young ladies vying for the attention of handsome officers without the means to keep wives absurd. Or, perhaps like Charlotte, Elizabeth simply assumed he agreed with her without his ever having done so. In any case, Mr Wickham preferred the company of a particular lady with the means to keep a husband. It was excessively rational on his part.

When she had friends, Elizabeth dreamt of a telescope. All alone, her fantasies turned to company. Sir William and Maria Lucas planned to visit Charlotte in March. When the invitation to join them was extended to Elizabeth, she accepted out of obligation and looked on the trip with dread. When it was time to leave, Elizabeth was truly grateful Charlotte had not forgotten her. 

Marriage had not changed Mr Collins for the better. His wife was as determined to ignore his deficiencies as ever. Charlotte had claimed a sitting room for herself, kept house according to her own wishes, and if she had a complaint (which she certainly never owned) it would doubtless be the lady across the lane.

Every one of the Collinses’ present comforts could be attributed to Lady Catherine de Bourgh. She had given Mr Collins his living, modernised his house, advised him on all the minutiae of his private business, recommended he marry to set an example among his parish and generally supervised his life. Independence was no point of pride for Mr Collins. He accepted Lady Catherine’s guidance with an eagerness many other men would have balked at.

Their reward for such uncommon obedience was consistent opportunities to dance attendance upon Lady Catherine and her daughter. Guests at the parsonage meant the already frequent invitations for tea and dinners multiplied. Sir William was especially delighted. His daughter had made a powerful friend. Though Elizabeth and Maria were to stay for several more weeks, Charlotte’s father soon returned to Meryton with many happy stories to share about her situation. 

Not too long before Easter, Lady Catherine welcomed two guests of her own. Visitors across the lane were not so fascinating once she had more important persons to entertain, but as she did so enjoy making introductions, Lady Catherine presented her nephew for the ladies’ approval the morning after he arrived.

Colonel Fitzwilliam was about thirty, quick to smile, and clever. His aunt spoke a lot and listened very little. One did not converse with Lady Catherine so much as subject oneself to her pronouncements. The colonel was interested in rapid, spirited conversation. Elizabeth had never had a more enjoyable morning at Rosings Park. Their conversation flowed from places they had seen to books they had read to books they hoped to read to music without pause.

“You cannot discuss music without Georgiana,” Lady Catherine injected. “She is a true proficient and has more knowledge of the subject than Miss Bennet or yourself.”

The colonel grinned. “Ma’am, if we were to include Georgiana in all of our discussions, I fear we may never speak again!”

“Does she dominate conversations?” Elizabeth asked.

Laughing, Colonel Fitzwilliam replied, “The very opposite. She does not speak at all if she can help it. I concede her music studies are coming along very well, but if we were to wait silently to hear her expertise put to words, we should be waiting a very long time.”

“She would not be half so difficult a child had my brother given her to me. Anne would have made a fine example of decorum.”

The colonel appeared a bit embarrassed to have family discord aired before a collection of strangers. Lady Catherine appeared to take his silence as agreement. “Far be it from me to question the choices of her departed father, but men know very little about raising girls. She needed a mother, and what’s more, a mother of girls. Your mother did her best, I am sure, but she is no blood relation, and I am certain no one asked her if she wished to take on the burden of raising a poor orphan after she was done bringing up sons. Had I the charge of her, she would not be upstairs now hiding.”

Coolly, Colonel Fitzwilliam said, “Of course not, ma’am, she is tired from the journey. Were she living here, she would have no need to rest.”

“Your father lets her run wild.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam was red; with anger or embarrassment, Elizabeth could not guess. However in vain his courtesy was, he did not surrender it. “Come now. She has no wish to run wild. She is gentle and modest.”

Lady Catherine eyed her nephew and decided, “My brother would not allow her to forget herself.”

“No, ma’am.”

Charlotte, who admittedly had more experience with Lady Catherine, feigned complete ignorance of the vulgar display. In Maria, Elizabeth had an equally bewildered ally.

Returning to the subject that created the unpleasant diversion, Lady Catherine summoned the girl to join them over Colonel Fitzwilliam’s protest.

Elizabeth expected a younger girl.

Colonel Fitzwilliam’s poor relation was about the same age as Maria, possibly a bit younger. She was the tallest of the assembled ladies, with lovely features and a womanly figure.

“Georgiana,” Lady Catherine said, “this is my rector’s wife, Mrs Collins, her sister Miss Lucas, and their friend Miss Bennet. Ladies, my niece, Miss Darcy.”

Elizabeth swallowed her gasp. Sir William had gone too soon! Charlotte was all politeness, smiling respectfully at Miss Darcy and encouraging Maria to befriend her. Surely they had not forgotten Mr Darcy so soon! And Mr Wickham! Sir William’s tale had included a grandfather protecting the neglected Darcy daughter, not an uncle or cousin, but that discrepancy could be attributed to anything. A misunderstand, a poor memory, the natural progression of mortality and inheritance. Mr Wickham had spoken of the girl by her Christian name. _Georgiana._

Miss Darcy was reserved and modest. She spoke one word for every ten of Maria’s. When Lady Catherine directed her to the piano-forte, she hurried to the instrument as though it was her salvation. She played with a skill that attested to diligent practice, and demurred when praised. Elizabeth wished for rather than found a resemblance between Miss Darcy and her brother.

After two airs, Lady Catherine scolded Miss Darcy away from piano. “Mrs Collins, I must have you play.”

Charlotte flushed. “My apologies, ma’am, I never learned.”

Her ladyship got over her disapproval upon recollecting that neither she nor her daughter played.

“Eliza plays,” Maria offered.

After that, Elizabeth did find something the Darcys had in common:

They both stared at her.

* * *

When travelling, one must expect to forgo the comforts of home. To find that some habits carry over from place to place is a happy coincidence and not something to be demanded. Although Elizabeth spent many happy hours in conversation with Charlotte, her friend’s time was often in demand from other quarters. If it should happen that she must entertain herself in the morning, Elizabeth took that time to exercise. The weather was so fine this time of year that she had great enjoyment out of doors. Her favourite walk was along an open grove which edged one side of the park. There was a nice sheltered path, and the weeks had taught her that no one valued it but herself.

One morning, not long after Miss Darcy’s arrival, Elizabeth encountered her while out walking. They exchanged pleasantries. Elizabeth remarked that she was fond of this grove, but Miss Darcy had nothing to say about the trees or the path. She turned, and went back to the great house.

The next day, Elizabeth again met with Miss Darcy in the grove. And again, Miss Darcy said little, and returned to the house.

The following morning, Colonel Fitzwilliam called at the parsonage and Elizabeth was obliged to remain indoors. He was charming company without his aunt. They spoke of town and travel, how well the ladies enjoyed Kent and what they had found at Rosings Park. Elizabeth described the grove and the colonel knew it; she mentioned twice seeing Miss Darcy there, and he was surprised.

“I am glad to hear it,” Colonel Fitzwilliam hurried to add. “I feared she never left her room.”

Maria pouted. “Why would she come along at all if she did not intend to come out?”

“Lady Catherine’s invitations can be difficult to refuse,” Colonel Fitzwilliam replied.

“I had been wondering why she did not go to Netherfield,” Maria continued, “though I suppose she is very shy.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam frowned. “Where should she have gone?”

“This past October,” Elizabeth interjected, “we had some visitors to our neighbourhood. One of them was a Mr Darcy. It is an uncommon enough name that I suppose we have all been suspecting he may be a relation.”

The colonel was quiet for a moment. Then, “Could you be referring to Mr William Darcy? Of Pemberley?”

Elizabeth had not heard the word _Pemberley_ spoken often. Had she been asked the name of Mr Darcy’s estate, she was not certain she could have answered. To hear Colonel Fitzwilliam say it, his voice thick with suspicion, she was struck by how clearly she could recall Mr Darcy’s saying it. The cadence and timbre of his voice suited the name better, as did the real fondness he had when he spoke of his home. “Yes, indeed.” 

“Do not,” Colonel Fitzwilliam commanded darkly, “mention that man to Georgiana.”

Maria shrugged. “My father would not allow me to speak to him, so I hardly know what I would say about it all anyway, but I recall Eliza being rather friendly with him.”

Elizabeth flushed. “We had a few scattered conversations. He was not among us very long.”

“I am sincerely sorry for my reaction,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “I do not wish to see Georgiana worry, that is all. There is rather a lot of unpleasant history between my family and the Darcys. Unfortunately, it is Georgiana who has suffered for it.” 

“We would not do anything to upset her, of course,” Elizabeth promised. She then tried to return their conversation to happier subjects. Colonel Fitzwilliam was unable to regain his previous good humour and soon took his leave.

Later, when she was able to escape the house and go walking, Elizabeth found Miss Darcy. Had she been waiting? It ought to be impossible that someone with so little to say should be intending to meet her, but as Miss Darcy paced in the grove, Elizabeth could find no other explanation. She once told Miss Darcy where she liked to walk and had been met faithfully every day since.

“Good morning!”

Miss Darcy startled, then smiled.

Elizabeth approached, but did not stop once she had walked past her. She headed toward the great house and Miss Darcy fell into step beside her. Hopefully, Miss Darcy would not hurry away to the house if they were already headed that way. Miss Darcy had a purpose, and she would not achieve it if nerves insisted on robbing her of the chance.

They walked for some time, the silence occasionally prompting Elizabeth to say things that were not especially worth listening to. The house grew larger. Was Miss Darcy going to go yet another day without saying whatever it was she had on her mind?

The girl mumbled something.

“Pardon?”

Miss Darcy inhaled. “Lady Catherine tells me you are from Hertfordshire.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam had assured them Miss Darcy was shielded from her brother’s influence. Mr Darcy’s time in Hertfordshire had come up just earlier that morning, but it was doubtful Miss Darcy should be privy to his travels. Elizabeth had no reason to be wary. And yet… “I am, yes.”

“Are you—do you—that is to say…” Miss Darcy frowned. “Have you ever heard of a place called Netherfield Park?”

It should be impossible! “I have.”

“Oh!” Miss Darcy was breathlessly pleased. All of her reticence melted away. “Oh! I had hoped so! Miss Lucas called you ‘Eliza’ and Lady Catherine said you all came from Hertfordshire so I thought perhaps—oh! But it is true! I did not really think I could be so fortunate!”

As she had been carefully cataloguing information about Miss Darcy, so had Miss Darcy been doing for her! Yet, Elizabeth could not account for how her own name travelled beyond her knowledge. And how to reconcile Miss Darcy’s reaction with Colonel Fitzwilliam’s? “You have me at the disadvantage.”

Miss Darcy bit her lip, but her teeth were unable to constrain her smile. “Well. You see—I think there is someone you met there last autumn.”

There was no use denying it. “Mr Darcy.”

“Yes! Oh! You do know him!” Miss Darcy was very far from the placid girl obediently performing that Elizabeth had first met. “How was he—how did he seem? Did you see him often? Did you speak to him? What about? You must tell me everything!”

The Fitzwilliams had decided Miss Darcy was to live in complete ignorance. Of course she was wild for any scrap of information. What a dilemma! The family had the right to raise her as they wished, of course, but how was Miss Darcy herself to accept their decisions when their zealous protection no doubt extended to even the reasons for it? “He is very tall. And handsome. I did speak with him on a few occasions but never about anything of much interest. Perhaps if you wish to know more, you could ask the colonel.”

“No.” Miss Darcy withered. “No one else likes him.”

With great care, Elizabeth suggested, “Perhaps your family’s opinion ought to be your guide.”

“I should hope not!” Incredulous, Miss Darcy cried, “They are all eaten up by avarice—and—and—bias! Cruelty, even!”

“Such a condemnation of your guardians is worrisome.”

“You must think me ungrateful,” Miss Darcy muttered. “They did take me in, though I know it was a burden.”

“Not at all.” Miss Darcy’s home was not a nurturing environment. Elizabeth would not doubt that. “My only thought was perhaps you might like living somewhere else better.”

“I would much rather be at Pemberley, of course!”

“That is your family’s wish, as well. I heard how Lord —— fought on your behalf.”

Miss Darcy shook her head. “That is not how I should like it to be. I want to live at home with my brothers. My mother’s family thinks I should have been my father’s sole heir.”

Doubtful, Elizabeth asked, “And you disagree?”

“Well.” Miss Darcy scuffled the path with her toes. “You must understand, they do not really wish for _me_ to be my father’s heir. Had I not been disinherited, every decision would have been made by trustees until I was of age. When I married, it would all belong to my husband, who would have his own land and always prefer it to Pemberley. So you see, it never would have been _mine.”_

“You think your father was right to do as he did?” 

“That is such a funny way of putting it! I had not expected it, but it was not illegal. I am sure my father thought about it very carefully. It could not have been easy.”

“A complicated situation,” Elizabeth surmised.

But even in that, Miss Darcy would not agree. “Was it?” Her forehead wrinkled. “It all seems so simple to me. My father had a son before he married my mother. She knew that. The circumstances of William’s birth were not his doing and I know my mother never blamed him. I do not remember her well, but William does and he said she was always kind.”

Justice demanded a man provide for his natural children. It was good of Miss Darcy’s father to choose a wife who had not resented her husband’s duty or the child. Miss Darcy, however, was young and naive. She took for granted that her brother had retained his childhood innocence into adulthood. She would not consider her mother’s family may have valid rationale behind their decisions. Although their desire to protect her was commendable, they were far too thorough. She had never heard any ill of him, so she could not reconcile herself to anyone else’s opinion of him. Miss Darcy was regarded as a poor relation, disinherited and burdensome. She was stifled and left longing for a brother she no longer knew. 

It had taken her days to muster the courage to ask questions. 

“I danced with your brother once.”

Miss Darcy could scarcely contain her delight. “You did? Oh! Is he very graceful?”

“He is. And he teases me, because he knows I like astronomy, and he has a telescope and I do not.” 

The Fitzwilliams wished to protect their ward, as was their right. Miss Darcy wished to know more, as was hers. Arguing with neither, Elizabeth entertained Miss Darcy with every benign thing she could think to say for the rest of their walk.

* * *

“Miss Bennet, you astound me.”

Any expectation that their mutual acquaintance might cause Colonel Fitzwilliam to curtail his calls on the parsonage were soon overthrown. It could be surmised that under any circumstance, a young man would prefer the company of single young ladies to his aunt, but Lady Catherine’s company was especially taxing, her home especially dull and the colonel’s diffident cousin was especially fond of Elizabeth. Their friendship must be perplexing to the observer. When they were among larger company, Miss Darcy was as quiet and withdrawn as ever. Whatever Miss Darcy had confessed to her cousin privately, it was enough that he did not doubt her affection. “She is normally so shy.”

“You have seen enough of her and me together to know I have not changed that.”

The colonel smiled gently. “Tell me you are not one of those ladies that demurs from praise!”

Elizabeth pretended to recoil. “Never!”

“You must forgive me. I did worry when I learnt you knew Darcy. He is often in town, but his habits are predictable. He stays among his own kind at the theatres. We have not—knowingly, at least—had a mutual acquaintance in years. Distance, I fear, makes it very easy to become prejudiced. I allowed myself to believe anyone who knew him must naturally wish Georgiana harm as he does.”

“Are you so certain that is his wish?”

“Come now, Miss Bennet! Think of all she has lost! Her dowry ought to be one of the grandest estates in Derbyshire. Had her father kept his wits about him, peers would be interested in a match. Instead she has become so withdrawn I hardly know her. She is a smart girl. She knows how precarious her future is. Much as we would all like to conceal that she was cast aside, we cannot. When her name is spoken, people think of him. The very men of standing in the world who ought to want her for their wife know her money is being used to—” The colonel stopped. “Forgive me. I forget myself. It is unconscionable to speak so. This association has been her ruin. Men like Darcy do not care about the women they harm.” 

The colonel’s lamentations for Miss Darcy’s future sounded preposterous to Elizabeth’s ears. She knew too well the struggle of parents where there was a daughter to be married—her mother would never let her forget it! She suspected, however, that there were many gentlemen willing to overlook a brother born on the wrong side of the blanket when the lady came with powerful connections and a dowry worthy of an earl’s daughter. The colonel’s assessment of Miss Darcy was cause for greater concern. He did not know how she felt about any of it. And that, Elizabeth was certain, was because Miss Darcy had learnt her opinions were unwelcome. 

“I hate to hear you speak of women only as victims of selfish men and not resilient creatures. None of us expect to be protected all our lives.” 

“Georgiana is not as brave as you!”

“She is _young._ Stop fretting over husbands and pay her the compliment of thinking she may yet surprise you.”

* * *

Elizabeth ought to have listened to her own advice.

Experience had taught Elizabeth that when Miss Darcy wished to speak with her, they would find one another in the grove. When calling at the parsonage, Miss Darcy was silent, but polite. At Rosings Park, she was paraded about by her aunt as an example of good breeding perfected by education. Elizabeth had grown complacent with the different faces of Miss Darcy.

She had forgotten Miss Darcy could still surprise _her._

Not part of her prior experience with Miss Darcy prepared Elizabeth for the sight of her young friend walking towards Hunsford village alone.

Elizabeth hurried to catch up with her. “Miss Darcy!”

Miss Darcy stopped. Her body tensed.

“What is the matter?”

An answer did not come quickly. Miss Darcy weighed her response carefully. She shifted from foot to foot. She watched the distance with an unusual intensity. Finally, she said, “Promise me you will not tell anyone.”

Trepidation trickled down Elizabeth’s spine. “What is wrong?”

Miss Darcy withdrew a letter from her reticule. 

With that act, the tension between them was broken and from this side, it was rather silly. Lady Catherine no doubt had letters of her own to post and ample servants to ferry the post back and forth. Miss Darcy was far too shy for some sort of illicit correspondence. It was not impossible, Elizabeth supposed, for Miss Darcy’s character to resemble her father’s more than they thought. She was young, and capable of surprising anyone.

With a sudden, powerful clarity, Elizabeth understood the letter was for Mr Darcy.

They correspond! Miss Darcy had known all along her brother was at Netherfield Park. She had recognised Elizabeth’s name. Although she knew the only reason Miss Darcy approached her was because she had already inferred Elizabeth had met her brother, she had never wondered at the source of that information.

How appalling that Mr Darcy would coax an innocent girl into a correspondence against the wishes of her guardians! Miss Darcy’s situation with her family was already so difficult. Knowledge of the letters would only make it worse. 

“I do not do it often!” Miss Darcy cried. “Only when I am away from home. He never writes back!”

Elizabeth swallowed. “You knew he was at Netherfield Park.” Men like Mr Darcy did not care who they hurt. Were they to be discovered, only Miss Darcy would face consequences. Her brother’s behavior was beyond the power of anyone to curtail.

Further confessions clearly pained Miss Darcy, but it appeared she felt they could not be avoided. “Miss Bingley writes to me. My uncle thinks she is a school friend. I have never met her. My uncle reads all my letters. It is safer this way. She does not call William by his name.”

 _Miss Bingley!_ Miss Bingley, Jane’s false friend! The very name filled Elizabeth with such animosity was almost hard to know what to condemn first! “She used my name! She used Netherfield Park’s name! If your uncle investigates these letters at all, he _will_ know!”

“You cannot understand,” Miss Darcy said tearfully. “You cannot! You have four sisters all at home with you, with your parents. You have left your home, but you will go back whenever you like. If they were all taken away from you, you would not mind the risk so much.” 

Miss Darcy was right, of course. “Miss Bingley said a lot about me, I see.”

Rocking on her feet, Miss Darcy said, “She always wishes me to have the complete picture of wherever they are.” Apologetically, she added, “Miss Bingley prefers to use only initials, but there were too many new people for that. It was natural that she wrote about you especially. I wish to learn all I can of William, and Miss Bingley noticed how he admires you.”

Elizabeth’s mouth was dry.

Herself a bit pink, Miss Darcy confessed, “No doubt that is why he teases you.” 

Elizabeth had not recovered herself as well as she would have liked before succumbing to the need to have some sort of answer for Miss Darcy. “Your brother may admire me if he dares, but as I do not expect to encounter him again, we ought not concern ourselves with it any longer.”

Miss Darcy pouted. “It would be nice for you to see him again, of course. Perhaps Mr Bingley likes his house better than we think, then everyone may return!”

“All of my hope is being spent on Mr Bingley remembering he likes my _sister_ as well as he does.”

Miss Darcy was undeterred. “Mr Bingley must return to his house if he is to court her in front of her friends. My brother shall visit, and then you will be reunited as well.”

“Your brother is accustomed to a certain lifestyle; he may find he has little in common with married friends.” 

Miss Darcy gave Elizabeth a quizzical glance. A part of her wished Miss Darcy to be worldly enough to understand such allusions, but perhaps it was better for her that she was not. Hearing of her brother seemed one of Miss Darcy’s greatest joys. Elizabeth would hate to disillusion her and leave Miss Darcy without even that much. 

Still, Elizabeth could not allow Miss Darcy to imagine expectations where none existed. “But we were discussing your brother’s friendship with _me_ , and I confess, I never felt he held me in any special esteem.” 

Her companion was disappointed. When they reached the Hunsford inn, Miss Darcy rallied and posted her letter. Mr Collins often sent a boy to retrieve the post for the parsonage, but because she was there and did not know when the boy had last come by, Elizabeth asked if there was anything to pick up. She was surprised to have a letter from Jane and pleased at the good fortune to have come herself on a day the boy had not quite by accident.

The envelope was thin. The direction had been written poorly. Elizabeth wasted no time in peeling the letter open. All that Jane had written fit on a single side of a single sheet, unusual for her. Her letters had not been happy, but she spent so much time playing with their Gardiner cousins that she always had a lot to write about.

“Is everything all right?” Miss Darcy asked.

Elizabeth read the letter twice before answering. “No.” She must have misunderstood. It was impossible. “Jane begs me to go to London. She writes Mr Bingley is engaged to someone else.”

  
  
  



End file.
